Characters: Sarah Fawcett, Dennis Fawcett, Marjorie MacFarland Fawcett Locale: Fawcett family farm, outside of Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon Date: December 13, 2003 Open? No. Warnings? Probably none....
Sarah Apparated to the familiar spot in the backyard that her family used for their magical comings and goings. For a few moments she simply stood there, staring out over the softly rolling wooded hillsides and watching her breath as it puffed in pale clouds and disappeared into the dark gray sky. Gathering herself, she turned and looked at the house, which presented itself in all its familiar haphazard glory. Piles of firewood leaned against the broomshed, which itself jutted out from the kitchen wall at a jaunty angle. The banisters and railings of the wide front porch had been decorated with evergreen boughs and holiday ribbon, and smoke curlicued out of the stout chimney, disappearing upward like her breath had done.
Glancing to her right, she took in the sight of the old swing, still hanging from the maple tree as it always had, though now its ropes had weathered and the once burnished wide boards of the seat looked a bit worse for wear. She walked to the swing and sat quickly. Pushing off lightly with her toes, she swung back and forth slowly and listened to the old ropes creak and groan in protest.
Memories played across her mind unbidden, and snippets of conversations she'd long forgotten assaulted her with their vividness.
"Get off that swing, Stephen! Da built it for me!"
"Sarah, don't go so fast...you're going to get hurt..."
"Spin it faster, faster!!"
"I'll race you...last one to the tree swing's the loser...now go!!"
She sighed and stopped swinging. I might as well not put it off any longer. There's no use hanging about out here if I'm just going to be all morose anyway. Standing, she walked up the sloping path to the back door and opened it quietly, stepping into a kitchen that was lit warmly...but that was also empty, though the table held evidence of one of her mum's latest projects for the tea shoppe. Sarah wasn't sure whether or not she was relieved that she hadn't seen either of her parents yet...they all honored Stephen's birthday every year since he'd been killed, and though they often spent much of the day celebrating his life, it was impossible not to spend part of it mourning his death. All in all, Sarah was preparing herself for an emotionally draining day. Still, she'd rather be here with her parents than off by her lonesome in Cornwall today. She took off her coat and hung it on her peg by the door. Moving towards the stove to put on the kettle, she called over her shoulder.